What'll I do
by moun-chan
Summary: Dorothy gives in and accompanies Blanche to the Rusty Anchor. A song at the piano brings out some unspoken feelings. Based on 7.19 Journey to the Center of Attention.
1. Chapter 1

The Rusty Anchor was not exactly the most romantic place, and Dorothy already regretted letting Blanche talk her into going. She hated bars, she sucked at this kind of socializing and if it hadn't been for her best friend's adorable puppy eyes, she'd be at home with a good book and a cup of tea. Instead, here she was, in a crowded, run-down shack full of men and alcohol, neon lights and noise. Then, breaking through it all, Blanche took her hand and led her to what seemed to be her usual table, and introduced her to all the men by name – not that Dorothy understood a single one of them. The only thing she could focus on was the soft, warm hand in hers, and so she was taken aback when suddenly it was gone.

Blanche was off ensnaring the guys at the bar, and all the men from the table were following her. Fantastic, Dorothy thought, fighting the bitter feeling rising in her chest.

As she looked around, she was surprised to find a piano in the middle of the room. After hearing all kinds of stories about Blanche's favorite pick-up spot, the most she would've expected was a juke box. If later there'd be some decent music, maybe the evening wouldn't be a total loss. For now, there was nothing to do, nobody approached her, so Dorothy decided to sit down on a nearby chair. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could observe Blanche laughing, flirting, seducing. She seemed to be having the time of her life.

Dorothy sighed. This was really the last thing she needed right now. Or ever. Not that she wasn't happy for her friend, oh no. She'd envied Blanche for her joie de vivre, her confidence and her devil-may-care-attitude. It was everything Dorothy had never been, and at fifty-six she knew she'd never be. She was happy that the Southern Belle kept living her best life, it just hurt so much for all the wrong reasons. The weight of a life of reproaches a bookish, introvert, tall and big-nosed girl never ceased to push down her broad shoulders, the nausea of years of suppressing your true feelings to please others, to do the right thing; the burden of the knowledge that deep down, you knew. You'd known all along. The anger and regret of a life unfulfilled, the never-ending spiral of _what if_s keeping her up at night. Living with Blanche for the last few years had left a serious crack in the wall around her heart.

She was happy for Blanche, sure, but she would've liked to be happy at some point in her life, too.

Dorothy didn't know how long she'd been lost in thought, sipping on something slightly too strong, when a man next to hear brought her back to reality. He'd sat down at the piano and started playing a few notes. She looked up at him, and for the first time that night, someone looked back at her.

"Hi," he said, "Never seen you here before."

"I usually don't come to places like this," Dorothy admitted.

The piano man nodded, and kept playing a slow tune. After a while, he turned back to Dorothy, who'd started quietly humming.

"You don't happen to sing, do you?"

Dorothy hesitated. Actually she did, she enjoyed singing despite or maybe to a certain extent because of her low, unique voice, but the thought of doing it in a bar, and such a cheap one at that, intimidated her.

"I mean, some people might enjoy making a fool of themselves in public, but me, singing? I don't think so."

He wasn'thaving any of it. "You sing, don't you?"

"A little."

A big smile crossed his face, and Dorothy started regretting her admission.

"How about some Irving Berlin? _Blue skies_? _Always_?"

Dorothy couldn't even bear the thought of something so cheerful, so she looked down at her drink, stirring the straw.

"Maybe some other time."

But the pianist wasn't giving up easily, and as if he'd perceived her mood, he suggested a different song.

"_What'll I do_?"

"D flat is good for me."

What the hell, Dorothy thought. It was a song that seemed to have been written for her, and singing it in front of her best friend made her heart race. But before she could change her mind, the man in the purple suit started hitting the keys.

At first quietly, then louder Dorothy sang. When everyone's attention switched to her, she was so lost in the song she hardly noticed it. All that was on her mind was the beautiful woman in the blue dress, sitting on a barstool on the other side of the room.

_What'll I do?_

_When I am wond'ring who_

_Is kissing you_

_What'll I do?_

_What'll I do with just a photograph_

_To tell my troubles to?_

_When I'm alone_

_With only dreams of you_

_That won't come true_

_What'll I do?_

Even though her feelings threatened to overwhelm her, Dorothy sang the verse a second time, and when she got to the part about _dreams of you_, she couldn't help but lift her eyes from the piano to look at Blanche, who was still sitting at the bar, and who was in turn gazing at her. With her cheeks burning and tears on the verge of spilling over, she maintained that eye contact during the last part of the song, desperate but unable to avert her eyes.

The soft notes of the piano subsided but the tears in Dorothy's eyes didn't. She hardly even heard the applause through the unbearable tension that seemed to be suffocating her. At the other side of the room, Blanche's expression was unreadable. Regret started rising like bile from Dorothy's guts, and she wished she'd just drop dead.

"Please excuse me," she managed to get out, before abandoning her place beside the piano and her chance at becoming popular for once in her life.

Somehow she got past the crowd and into the restroom, where she locked herself away from the world, and tried not to drown in the sea of misery that was her heart. What had she been thinking? Hadn't she sworn never to let it show, especially to Blanche? Why did she have to ruin the one good thing about her life? The questions in her head were coming so fast they were tumbling all over the place and making her dizzy.

Dorothy buried her face in her hands and tried to come to her senses. This wasn't helping. She was here, she'd sung a stupid song, and now she had to go back and keep faking it. 40 years of practice wouldn't let her down tonight.

Dorothy wiped off her tears and got up, avoiding the mirror on her way out. After a last deep breath, she opened the door. After a last deep breath, she opened the door.

The room seemed normal enough at first sight, chatting, drinking, music in the background. Lucky for her, everybody was back to minding their own business, trying to get lucky, or drunk, and she decided maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. She sat down in the corner, far away from Blanche and those nasty old guys trying to get in her pants.

A few whiskeys later, Dorothy was still there, gloomy and alone. She should've listened to her guts, she thought, and never left the house that night. The longer she waited, the more anxious she got about seeing Blanche, about finding out just how much she'd ruined their friendship. Would they even be able to keep living under the same roof? Dorothy downed the rest of the liquor and enjoyed the sharp burning sensation it left. It would probably never be the same again. Blanche hadn't approached her even once all night, but then again, why would she, with the men swarming around her like flies around honey.

Shaking her head, she paid, got up, and walked straight to the door, without as much as a glance at her best friend. For a moment, she thought maybe Blanche would stop her, or ask her where she was going, but she stepped outside, let the door fall shut, and walked away without any interruption. Dorothy tried to swallow the heavy lump in her throat, as she stopped in the parking lot. Where _was_ she going to go? For a while, she stood there, trying to come up with a decision, until through the mist in her brain the soft roaring of waves made its way to her, and she started walking towards the ocean. This dump was called Rusty Anchor, so how far could it be?

Actually, it turned out to be quite a bit, or at least it seemed to take forever until she could throw off her shoes and step on the sandy beach. She felt strangely free out here, alone and barefoot. Above her, stars were glowing softly, the moon was nothing but a thin curve, like a closing bracket. The waves were the only thing she could hear now, the city obliterated by nature.

When she finally got to the shore, she stood still. The water around her feet didn't feel real, her eyes were lost at the horizon, looking over the endless darkness.


	2. What'll we do

The darkness reminded Dorothy of that time on the rooftop, when instead of the stars above, the city lights below her were calling her, the cold autumn wind pushing her towards the edge. She'd lost count of the times she got up there, in the middle of the loud Irish-Italian neighborhood, finally away from everything- her parents, the annoying Stanley, the pressure of high school and not knowing what to do with yourself and your life. If there ever was any hope, she was losing it. That weird one night stand with Stanley in his car, that she could barely remember, and now she was three weeks late and saw all her plans shatter in a thousand little pieces. Carefully, she stepped closer to the edge, looking over and down on the busy street. Her skirt was trembling in the breeze.

With a sigh, she let herself drop on the soft sand. She took a deep breath, and rested her head on her knees. Maybe she should've gone through with it all those years ago. It would have saved her a lot of suffering and embarrassment. What would sixteen year old Dorothy have to say about this mess? She'd always hoped one day she'd be proud of herself, she'd have accomplished something, but what did she have to show for? A crappy substitute teaching job, living with her mother, single and unhappy, and probably just about to be detested by her formerly best friend… Why did it always have to end like this with her? Blanche was the best thing that had ever happened to her, and of course her heart had to ruin it. Why couldn't she be normal? Or be born like 70 years later, where she might've been considered normal.

Gently, tears started flowing down her cheeks. Now, she didn't fight them. The stars and the sea would not judge her, they'd probably seen worse. The soft, regular rushing of the waves managed to calm her, and she stayed for what felt like forever, while the water was slowly receding.

The night was mild out here and everything had a soft feeling to it. Dorothy observed the stars above her, tracing constellations and formations that reminded her of the ancient Greek myths. She'd done that many nights out on the lanai, and it helped seeing the bigger picture. What was she really, and what did it matter if she fulfilled societal expectations, or succeeded in her love life at all? Maybe she should get back into poetry, didn't the best art come from suffering artists? Dorothy shrugged, and started drawing circles in the sand with the tip of her finger. Everything was transient – the patterns in the sand, the night, she and every other person, even the planet.

There she was, sitting in the sand and philosophizing to herself, when the heard the rustling of steps behind her. She remained as she was, not even thinking for a second that it could have anything to do with her, until they stopped. Was there someone behind her? Was she maybe even in danger? Dorothy tried to remain calm. Who'd want to assault _her_? Still, she no longer felt at ease.

Suddenly the steps resumed, but instead of retreating, they were coming closer. Dorothy was ready to defend herself, but as she saw who appeared beside her, she let her guard drop for a second, only to draw up the emotional wall again.

"Dorothy, what'cha doin' out here all by yourself?"

"What do you want, Blanche?"

The belle hesitated, but after a short internal dispute about her dress and the sand, she sat down beside her.

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay. It didn't seem like you had a lot of fun tonight."

"Not like you I sure didn't," Dorothy replied, looking straight at the ocean.

"Oh come on, you know what this does to the guys," Blanche said, vaguely gesturing at her body.

"Then why aren't you doing it with one of them?"

When there was radio silence, Dorothy regretted her choice of words for a second. But then again, wasn't it the truth?

After a while, Blanche cleared her throat. "Because my best friend is behavin' like an absolute weirdo tonight, and I thought somethin' might be wrong, but apparently it's just her usual stick-in-the-mutt depressive lifestyle."

For the first time, Dorothy turned her head. The expression in Blanche's gorgeous, moonlit face was hurt and hurtful at the same time.

"You don't understand."

"What do I not understand, Dorothy? How you look down upon me and still wish you were more like me?"

That stung. Dorothy softly shook her head. "No, that's not it at all. If anything, I look up to you."

"You've gotta be kiddin' me."

"I am not. You are my best friend, Blanche. You are clever and gorgeous and just overall amazing. And yes, I do wish I were more like you. Because I've never been able to live nearly as unapologetically as you. I always put other things, other people first, and I can't help but keep doing it."

"Is that why you stopped singin' after one song? You were worried what they were thinkin'?"

Dorothy shrugged. She'd said so much already, she'd better keep her mouth shut.

"They were thinkin' you're pretty good. They were interested exactly because you did the unusual thing. If you hadn't run away, who knows, you might've caught yourself a nice fish. Some of the gentlemen-"

"I don't give a shit about these gentlemen," Dorothy yelled, not caring if she was scaring off the seagulls. "That is precisely my problem, Blanche!"

"You don't?"

"I am so sick of pretending I am something I'm not!" The tears and the rage were back, and pushed out the words she'd kept swallowed for so long. "I don't want a guy, I don't want any guy! I like women." Hearing herself say it, Dorothy couldn't hold back the tears and with trembling lips, said it again. "I'm gay."

Blanche just sat there, frozen solid, while Dorothy sobbed.

"I've never told this to anyone in my life. I'm sorry. I didn't want to bother you. I hate it so much."

Suddenly, she felt a small, warm hand on her shoulder.

"It's no bother, honey," Blanche said gently. "Don't you worry about that. It's just how you are."

Overwhelmed by the relief of having this lifelong weight lifted off her heart, Dorothy let herself fall over into Blanche's arms, who caught her and held her tight, as she let go of all her tears. She was beyond trying to stop them, and she didn't stand a chance anyway.

When she finally started to calm down, she pushed away the regret of having opened up. It was probably better this way, for her and for everyone.

"And just for the record," Blanche said, still holding her tight, "if you wanna know what they were thinkin' of you singin', well, actually they were blown away. I never knew, but when you sing, you light up the room, you do, you positively glow, you just-"

Dorothy had withdrawn from their embrace just far enough so she could see Blanche as she was pronouncing these magical words and to check that she wasn't just hallucinating.

"You're beautiful."

Indescribable feelings hit Dorothy right in the gut, and she couldn't believe her ears. She, beautiful? It had been years since anyone had called her this, and never had it been someone like Blanche, someone she loved so much, on a moonlit beach in a mild Miami autumn night.

Before she knew what she was doing, she kissed her. It wasn't perfect, a little off to the right, soft and short, but it was bliss.

Blanche remained motionless for a second, then withdrew with a hand on Dorothy's shoulder, giving her a most unusual coy smile.

"I see now why you chose that song."

Dorothy nodded. "I wanted to take this damn thing to my grave, but… tonight I couldn't help it. I'm sorry. We don't ever have to talk about it again. I understand if you want to push me into the sea."

"I don't think that's what I want to do at all," Blanche said softly.

"I thought you'd be appalled. I've had my share of unrequited love, and it never ends well. You can kick me out, or do whatever you want. I screwed up and I don't deserve-"

Blanche cut her off by pressing her lips to Dorothy's, and this time it was precise. When it came to kissing, there was no match for Blanche Elizabeth Devereaux, and Dorothy surrendered to her skillful caress completely. Of all the outcomes her imaginative mind had speculated about, this here had not even occurred to her. She was kissing her. Blanche was actually kissing her. Softly parting her lips, gently holding her head, definitely making her forget everything else.

When they finally separated, it was like waking up from a dream. Dorothy gazed at her Southern Belle as if she were a vision.

"You – what – just –"

Blanche giggled. "Dorothy Zbornak rendered speechless, I never thought I'd see the day!"

After a moment, her expression got more serious. "I can guess what you're thinkin', and it's really quite simple. I like you. A lot. I don't care that you're a woman. You're my best friend, and you're an amazin' person. I would love to take things to the next level with us. We can figure out _what we'll do_ together."

Dorothy was almost crying again, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Yes. Oh God, yes."

"Then shall we go home?"

Dorothy nodded. "It's been a long night. Let's go. I just hope I can find my shoes."

Together, they got up and went back, picking up Dorothy's discarded pumps on the way, laughing about the sand still falling from their clothes. The moon accompanied them like a proud matchmaker, as they made their way home in Blanche's car, and to their new beginning. For once, Dorothy was glad she'd given in to Blanche, and she had a feeling she would give in many times more in the future.


End file.
